


All Hail the Unequaled One

by Miratete



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Blood Drinking, Deal with a Devil, Harems, Mirror Universe, Religious Content, Sacrifice, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 19:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miratete/pseuds/Miratete
Summary: -o-o-o-o-o-In the Shattered Glass universe, Decepticons are good, Autobots are bad, and Primus is very real.  But he's not the fatherly, care-taking sort of god one would hope for.-o-o-o-o-o-
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	All Hail the Unequaled One

-o-o-o-o-o-

Optimus Prime took a deep in-vent and knelt at the base of the steps. Prowl and Jazz, just behind him, knelt as well.

“You return again, Optimus Prime, seeking the same of me once more,” came the voice, omnipresent in the cavernous temple—a sound both soft and terrible at once—the voice of their god.

Optimus did not lift his head as one of the priests moved forward, a large glass chest in his hands. As was customary, the priest set it down before the prime, just out of reach. Within the glass glittered the opalescent treasure the Autobots had come for. 

“Tell me, what do you wish to exchange this time?” came the voice again. “What price will you pay for five hundred lives added to your cause?”

The Autobot leader's hands clenched. This was the part he hated most. Sometimes Primus asked a pittance. Sometimes he asked the impossible. But the bidding had to start somewhere, so he offered what he'd carried with him. “I have brought you enough gold to plate your frame, your worship,” he said humbly.

“Gold... to adorn myself with?” The fabric of the god's long cape rustled as he rose from his throne at the distant top of the steps.

“Gold is also a universal currency,” Optimus added hopefully.

Footsteps began to sound upon the stairs. Their god had decided to come down to him, perhaps just a little, but it showed he was eager to make the trade. Enough photonic crystals to construct five hundred sparkchambers to build five hundred soldiers with was hardly anything for Primus, but it could mean so much to the Autobot forces.

“I do not want for beauty, though there are things on other worlds that I might fancy.”

“Your worship, would you look so mercifully upon us, that you would accept our trade.” He despised the begging and the fawning and the humbling of himself, but it had to be done. And despite the most intensive efforts of the scientists and geologists and prospectors there was no other source of the critically-needed crystals. Primus had a monopoly upon them. It had been the same with the Matrix of Leadership. There was no substitute or alternate source, and so the price had been a dear one.

The footsteps ceased, and Optimus dared to look up.

Primus, despite what one might imagine, was not an imposing or powerfully-built figure. In fact he was on the small side and rather 'civilian-looking.' There was no natural majesty about him. No awe-inspiring visage. If one were to pass him in the street he wouldn't have even garnered a glance. The rich blue cape that hung from his shoulders even seemed a bit too grand for such shoulders. But despite his unassuming appearance, he was their immortal god, and he held the key to the mastery and mysteries of Cybertron.

“I will make the trade,” Primus said from the steps below his throne—a hundred and thirteen steps in all. “But not for the gold.”

“What is it you wish, your worship?”

Primus began to descend again, past the platform where his high priests were enthroned, past the platform where his guards stood fearsomely, past the platform where his concubines lounged in waiting. And when he at long last came to the final step, just above where Optimus knelt, a thin arm raised with his index finger extended. “I want him.”

The deity was pointing at Jazz.

All three Autobots gasped.

“You want Jazz?” Optimus questioned.

“Mmmm... yes. That is my price. One life for five-hundred.”

“No!” Jazz spat, rising to his feet.

“Great Primus, Jazz is my third-in-command and an invaluable soldier,” Optimus pleaded. “To me—to the Autobot cause—he is priceless.”

Primus laughed. “Everything has a price. And his price is that of five-hundred new soldiers.” He folded his arms over his chest and cocked his hip. “Tell me Optimus, are you willing to pay that price?

Optimus grimaced. What was Jazz's real value? Was he truly priceless as he'd just stated?

“You can't let him have me,” Jazz spluttered through jagged dentae. “You know what he does to mechs!” Two exchanges ago they'd offered five Decepticon prisoners in exchange for the photonic crystals, which Primus had accepted eagerly. And then they'd all watched aghast as the priests seized one of the prisoners and placed him upon an altar, whereupon they pried open his chest and drained his innermost energon. They'd watched in horror as the innermost energon was placed in crystal bowl and offered up to Primus, who then drank it before them all. And then as the terrified victim whimpered and begged for mercy, they watched in even greater horror as Primus drew the Decepticon's spark from his chest and toy with it until it flickered and then faded into oblivion in his hand.

Primus smirked. “I know what you fear, but I assure you that pretty frames such as yours aren't pointlessly sacrificed.” He moved spryly back up the stairs to the lowest platform, and there bade his concubines to rise. All had been painted a pastel version of his own orange color and decorated with sparkling silver tracery. Their optics had been changed to a deep orange. “This is my plan for you, Jazz,” he said, raising his arms to indicate his collection of beauties.

The Autobot leader rose to his feet. “If you just wish a pretty mech for your service, I have others under my command with far more charms. Have you seen Bluestreak? Or perhaps Tracks? My own consort, Elita-One, is considered one of the loveliest femmes on Cybertron. Allow me to present some of them for your choosing.”

Primus shook his head. “Megatron did not protest even half as much when I asked for his second-in-command. In fact Starscream even came willingly.” He turned to the cluster of mechs on the right. “Come forward, Starscream. Let them have a look at you.”

From the back of the group a seeker stepped forth, hanging his head as he came to the command. Primus took his hand and pulled him forward even more. “Lift your face, darling. Let them see how beautiful you are.”

Optimus, Jazz, and Prowl were stunned. “So that's what happened to him!” Prowl gasped. “We never could find out where he'd gone. It was like he just disappeared.”

“I purchased him for the same price I'm asking for you. You should be honored, Jazz. He was second-in-command—therefore more valuable.” Primus looked at the Vosian, and then slipped a hand beneath his chin, lifting his faceplate higher. “Such a pretty thing. And I know Megatron misses him.” Primus then pulled Starscream closer and kissed him forcefully. “And so full of secrets and shame...”

Optimus grimaced. He needed the photonic crystals, but he also needed Jazz. He watched as the deity continued to aggressively kiss and fondle the amazingly complacent Starscream.

Though there was Jazz's brother Ricochet. Perhaps the junior officer could replace the senior in his work. Perhaps one of the new soldiers he constructed would be skilled enough to fill that slot.

Primus then shoved Starscream back into to the crowd of his harem and turned back to his visitors, a fire burning in his aqua-blue optics. “So then... five-hundred lives for one?” He looked down expectantly at Optimus.

“He's yours,” the prime grumbled.

Jazz shrieked. “What! No! You can't!”

Prowl quickly grabbed one of Jazz's arms before the mech could transform or make a run for it. Several priests joined in and began to drag him away.

“No! You can't do this!” he screamed. “I'm worth more than five-hundred new soldiers. You'll never find anyone like me! I can't be replaced!”

Optimus didn't even turn to look. “I'm willing to take that risk.”

Primus didn't look either as he began to climb regally back up the stairs to his throne, his long blue cape dragging along behind him. A chant of “All Hail the Unequaled One,” rose up from the throng of priests and soon spread to those on the steps, the sound of it drowning out Jazz's protests.

From behind the stairs appeared a mech they all recognized as Primus' highest-ranking priest, a radiant yellow seeker with fiery optics. He moved to the center of the platform, picked up the chest of crystals, and placed it into Optimus's hands. “Primus thanks you for your continued worship and support.”

“Thank you, Sunstorm,” Optimus said flatly, his fingers folding to grip the edges of chest.

“Jazz will be much adored by his holiness. All of his chattels here are well cared for.”

Optimus clenched his jaw. “I've given him up. His holiness can do whatever he likes with him.”

“Of course,” replied Sunstorm obligingly.

“Let's go,” rumbled Optimus to Prowl, and they turned and left, taking their hard-won treasure with them.

-o-o-o-o-o-  
-o-o-o-  
-o-

The End

-o-  
-o-o-o-  
-o-o-o-o-o-


End file.
